You Save Me, and I'll Save You
by GothicCheshire
Summary: Everyone needs saving at some point in time. Be they human, animal, vegetable, mineral, or sometimes even Vulcan. Getting them to let you save them, on the other hand, can be just a little difficult.
1. Trends

_I've fallen in the trap of the 'five and one' stories... I apologize deeply for this, but it can't really be helped. This is going to be my version of 'five times Spock saved the crew/captain, and one time they saved him.' We'll see what kind of stuff I come up with, yes? Do enjoy. These are going to be rather short, and I apologize, but I shall attempt to make the next chapters longer, after the first two. _  
...

It shouldn't have been that difficult. Go make contact with a bunch of aliens that were pacifistic fuzzballs, that didn't believe in the use of weapons, sign the treaty, and get out. Simple. Only once again the crew of the _Enterprise_ was given reason to believe that their ship was, quite simply, _cursed_. Apparently the fuzzballs that didn't believe in weapons also didn't believe in informing the Federation they were supposed to be joining of their scaly, slobbering, weapon wielding neighbors.

So, naturally, the landing party, Leonard 'Bones' McCoy, Spock, James T. Kirk, and a security officer or two, beamed down right into the midst of these slobbering neighbors who were, quite naturally, not impressed. Next thing they knew they had been taken captive and were forced into a dirty, old fashioned cell. Jim thought they were lucky that the nasty scaly abominations didn't believe in eating them. Their teeth were sure as hell long enough.

The cell was dark, stank, and was the perfect amount of disgusting and unsanitary to have Bones grumbling within a second. Their phasers and communicators had been removed from their possession, and they could barely stand up without hitting their heads, which meant Spock had to stoop. He was the least ruffled out of all of them; Jim was pacing back and forth pointlessly, his teeth grit in annoyance, the two security officers were glancing back and forth, probably deciding who was going to die this time, and McCoy was cursing a blue streak.

The half-Vulcan, however was staring at the outline of the door as though he could disintegrate it, and in the tiny sliver of light that streamed in they could barely make out the glittering of his black eyes. Jim sighed and slumped against the wall, hands running over his face in exasperated exhaustion. This was getting old.

Suddenly, before they had time to think, Spock had launched himself at the door with all the force of a gunshot and smashed into the wooden door with his shoulder. It creaked, groaned, and fell with a crash. To their shock there were no sudden alarms, nothing. Everything was silent, still, calm, and Spock turned to look at them expectantly, a trademark eyebrow rising when they just stared at him with open mouthed shock. Vulcan ears were apparently good for something after all.

That eyebrow rose just that little bit more, and they finally rushed out, stunned and surprised to see their communicators in a pile near the back wall. They were able to pick them up, and call the _Enterprise_ before their charming hosts returned, this was almost too easy. This was, of course, when they returned and they were remarkably unhappy to see their prisoners up and about. Jim was, of course, the one they immediately targeted, throwing a projectile weapon that would have torn through his chest, had Spock not stepped in front of him calmly and smoothly. Jim gave a yell, which was somehow dwarfed by McCoy's loud angry cursing, and they beamed out just as Spock was slumping to the ground, emerald green blood splashing.

It was only later that Jim realized he had never said a word. Went through the motions as though it was expected of him, calmly using his own body to smash doors, giving himself a nasty green bruise in the process, and taking a potentially fatal blow for his Captain. Jim figured it was way too soon to call him friend, but it was a near thing. How often did someone not your friend use his body to save yours? It was a sickening sight, watching as his first officer bled out on the transporter pad with Bones cradling his head in his lap, trying to staunch the flow of blood with his hands and screaming at his sickbay to get the hell up there with an emergency team through the comm. Three hours of surgery later and Spock was stable and in a healing trance. Jim had visited as often as he could, staring down at the unmoving pale and green tinged form on the bed, marveling at just how fragile he seemed to be when he wasn't standing taller than everyone else and staring at them all imperiously.

But that didn't change the fact that Jim thought it was strange that someone he barely called _tolerable _was willing to give his life to save his own. It didn't matter that his heart was in his side and not his chest, it was the principle of the thing, and Bones agreed with him. Bones had cursed the entire time there, probably during the surgery as well, and every time he saw him lying there still he would curse some more and then seem to deflate.

Jim hoped to God that this wouldn't start a trend.


	2. Nightmares

Blue eyes blinked open wearily, their vision hazy and weak. After what seemed like forever his vision cleared enough to see at least some of his surroundings. Once he could, he wished that he couldn't. Bleak and dust infested, the room was encrusted with grime, and chains hung from the ceiling, the room stunk overwhelmingly of decay and death. After willing himself to move slightly, he found that he was bound tight. Glancing down along his body, he found himself bound by rusted chains that pressed into his chest legs and arms, staining the gold of his shirt, and cutting off circulation to his arms and legs.

Where the hell was he?

A door opened on the far side of the cell, and he slowly turned his head to look. A tall and burly something entered. It was covered from head to toe in a huge bag like monstrosity, the skin that he could see covered in wiry and thick black hair that did little to hide the filth encrusted claws jutting out from its fingers. The thing seemed to notice the blue eyes focused on it, and froze, before slowly beginning to speak to him in a language he didn't recognize.

"Look buddy, I don't know _who_ you are, I don't know _what_ you are, but the language is ENGLISH. Not whatever gibberish you're spouting out." His voice was more raspy and weak than he liked, and the thing tilted its head at him in what he thought was slight confusion. It gibbered at him some more, and he sighed, "Okay, fine, I can't understand you, and neither can the universal translators. So, that must mean that we've never encountered each other before. What a lovely first contact this is turning out to be."

The thing cocked its head again, and seemed to dismiss the uncomfortable human strapped to a table. He sighed, tilting his head to the side, and found the stench of decay. Directly across the room from him, and strapped to a similar table, was a red shirted thing, which had at one point been human. Now the features were twisted beyond repair in a permanent testament to agony and pain, the limbs had been stretched at odd angles, and he could see the insides strewn across the table like a macabre parody of spaghetti. He felt the overwhelming urge to vomit.

He was brought back to his predicament by the sound of a high pitched whine coming from the other end of the cell, and immediately turned his head to face it. The thing was grinding stone instruments, sharpening them, chips and sparks coming from the tools that he was horrified to find were stained with dried blood. He turned his head away and began frantically trying to do what he figured he should have spent the time doing before that thing got there. He began to try and escape.

He strained and pulled until the gold of his shirt was ingrained with rust, and he was unable to move, twisted under the chains, the top one tight around his neck, slowly choking off his air. The thing chose that time to move forward, cocking its head again at the sight of its subject in a strange position. It didn't seem to care though. Before he had a chance to react a white hot pain flashed in his leg. He let out a scream when one of the large knives dug down his thigh and sliced it apart, the flesh parting like butter under the assault.

He continued to scream as it sliced his arm, his other leg, down his side, all the while begging to die. He had no more hope that he could escape. Finally the lack of oxygen became too much, and he started to choke, the edges of his vision going black, but before he faded totally, the door swung open, and a blue shirted something ran forward. Suddenly, the knife was gone. Two hands gripped the chains and pulled, snapping them like twigs and freeing him, but by that time the pain was too much, and everything faded to black.

"_JIM!"_

James T. Kirk snapped awake in the white, antiseptic smelling sickbay, his eyes once again bleary and unfocused. This time the first thing he saw wasn't chains or decay, it was the brown concerned eyes in an otherwise emotionless face. Jim smiled softly, and the concern turned to confusion.

"I like you Spock…you even save me from my dreams." With that, Kirk curled up a little, pulled his blanket up, and fell into a calming sleep. This time without the fear of nightmares.


	3. Mentors

_I give you part three, and one of the only things I've written with a semi-focus on Chekov. Hope you all enjoy, sorry for the wait. I should have something for Captives up reasonably soon all those who read that story as well._  
...

Chekov stared at the table in front of him with sightless eyes, his mind a million miles away, fingers tugging at each other and lips pressed together tightly. At any other time someone would have come over to talk to him, but they stayed away. Ever since the Away Mission he had been rather distant, and the only one who could likely talk him out of it had been confined to sickbay for treatment.

The one in sickbay had been there for days; it wouldn't have taken so long, but something worse had happened than had been realized at the time, until they had seen his face.

The look on that face had haunted Pavel's dreams for each day. Even now he remained plucking at his fingers, flexing them, his eyes closing.

His mind was so focused on that thought that he missed the officers standing up and moving to leave, relief and joy on their faces at the sight of the person standing in the doorway. Smiles and quiet words of relief were given to him and were met with a quiet inclination of the head. Finally the last one trickled out, and Chekov was brought back into awareness at the sound of the chair in front of him being pulled back, and a person in regulation blacks sitting down in front of him.

Pavel looked up slowly, eyes trailing up heavily bandaged hands and forearms to finally stare into the emotionless yet bruised face of the Vulcan in front of him. He could clearly see the look of agony and pain that had been etched into that face in his minds eye as he clutched what had been broken and bleeding hands to his chest.

"I am so sorry, sir," the heavily accented voice was quiet, and Pavel quietly berated himself for it.

"It was not your fault, Ensign."

"But…if I had not done zat, they vould not hawe needed to make a point…"

"Pavel," Chekov jolted, looking up at Spock at the sound of his name coming off of those lips, the face as impassive and stern as ever, but the eyes holding something earnest and insistent in their depths. "Pavel, it was an equitable trade. My hands are not worth your life. My hands will heal, Pavel, while you would not have your life return to you."

Chekov stared into those insistent brown eyes of someone who had become a mentor and friend to him and swallowed. "I vould not hawe seen it."

Images of Spock fighting their captors in order to save Pavel from being killed by them flashed through his mind, the eventual forcing into submission as well. Spock being forced to the ground as they beat and spit on him, finally pulling him forward to kneel and chaining his wrists to the ground as they broke his fingers one by one, popping each nail off, slicing up his forearms, sneering, jeering. When they realized that it hurt Pavel to watch it became worse.

Spock had never screamed, had never shown any sign of pain, simply remained with his eyes locked onto Chekov's, never blinking, even as a trickle of blood came from his lips as they kicked him savagely in the ribs. The only time he broke that eye contact was when they smashed his face into the floor, his nose snapping cleanly. Chekov had curled up into a ball, his eyes wide, scared, focused completely on the Vulcan before him.

He knew what torture was like. He had seen it in videos, and he knew he could handle much of it, but seeing it in front him, real, there, to someone he knew…nothing could have prepared him for it. Chekov knew there were tears running down his face, the young officer not saying a word, the liquid nearly unnoticeable. His eyes were locked on the Vulcan's, his face kept expressionless.

Finally, finally they had been saved, finally others had come, and Jim had been the one to blast the large and hideous alien in the back with a phaser. McCoy's voice cursed and swore as he hailed the _Enterprise_ for the Captain who was currently dishing out his own brand of justice in the form of phaser blasts and punches and kicks when he could get close enough. A security guard had been the one to free him and Spock from their positions, and when they had tried to help the half-Vulcan to his feet…that was when Spock gave his first sign of pain, an image that Chekov could still see.

"_Ensign!" _Spock's insistent voice broke Pavel from his musings, eyes snapping up to stare at the Commander, and he slowly began to shake. "Pavel, listen to me, there is no need to fear, they are gone, we are both alive."

"Zey nearly killed you."

"They did not. Pavel, dwelling on what could have been…it is a dangerous thing. I am fine, Ensign. I will heal, and so will you. But you must understand that what you saw…it could happen again. This is a dangerous occupation, and you are aware of this, but you must be willing to accept the consequences and the realities. _I_ _could have died_. You are aware of this, and the thought is currently tormenting you. But I am not."

"I…I am avare of zis Kommander…but…it could happen again."

"It could, and the same questions will torment you, you must learn to get past this."

"It is hard."

Spock was silent for a moment, looking at him steadily, but his lips pressed together firmly, and Chekov realized just how difficult it was for the Commander, the half-Vulcan who claimed to be emotionless.

"It is hard, but it can be overcome."

"…Vill you…vill you teach me?"

"I would be honored."

And with those four words, Chekov found the ability to smile.


	4. Counselors

_I don't know where this one came from. I really truly don't. That said, I hope you enjoy it anyway. I really need to quit doing these 'start of friendship' stories involving these two, but I can't... *siiigh... _  
...

McCoy stared into the smugly smiling face of his ex-wife and wished for the ground to swallow him up. On second thought, he wished that it would swallow her up.

"Leonard, well, I must say that it is a true pleasure to see you again. I was just telling Peter that I needed to tell you somethin', and here you are."

"Jocelyn…" McCoy answered, not rising to the bait. Shore leave on Earth for the first time in months, and who does he happen to meet at the landing but his ex-wife. There were currently two thoughts in his mind, what the hell was she doing here and how the hell did he escape? There wasn't a sign of another crewmember anywhere. No Jim or Scotty to save the day. He turned his focus back to the woman in front of him, a part of him taking in her beautiful features, noticing how the blue dress she was wearing made her eyes sparkle.

"Leonard, darling, I need to speak to you about Joanna."

His mind immediately snapped to focus, staring at her. "What about her?"

"I'm sorry, Len; we've talked about it; we've thought deeply about it. You have to understand that she is losing sleep and constantly focused on the comm. waiting for you to call, and this simply can't do. She's a little girl and she needs to focus, not continue with her head in the clouds dreaming of her father that she most likely will not see again. I'm sorry, really, but it's for the best. We're revoking your visitation rights."

McCoy's world shattered, his mind freezing, and his heart clenching. "What?" A small part of him screamed bitterly, his heart flooded with poison.

"Your visitation rights, we're revoking them," she repeated patiently, and McCoy saw that glimmer in her eyes, that look of satisfaction and the knowledge that he could do nothing.

"You can't do that." his voice was a whisper, and he stared at her, fingers tightening into fists, only they were trembling too much to be threatening. He was angry, he was so angry, but any wrong move… He never believed in hitting anyone, as much as this would be a perfect example, and a part of him was too broken to try even shouting.

"I'm afraid I can, Len, you see, she's my daughter-"

"She's mine, too!"

"Be that as it may, she's living under my roof."

"Only because 'Peter' tipped the lawsuit in your favor," McCoy hissed out. Jocelyn shrugged daintily, and McCoy felt himself crumble.

"Be that as it may, she is living with me, and I cannot have her constantly in some flight of fancy, waiting desperately for the next time her 'daddy' will call. You aren't in her life anymore, Leonard. She needs to get over it, and having you call her constantly and visit every time you can will not help her do so. Now I have to go. I'm sorry it has to be this way, Leonard… I truly am."

With those last few words she left, leaving McCoy to stand in the middle of the crowded station, his blood roaring in his ears, and his mind in a haze. He finally, slowly stumbled out of the crowd, down into the street, turning this way and that, unable to focus, but having a very specific goal in mind.

Slowly wandering down the street he finally came to his destination, a cheap and sleazy bar that he had been frequenting in his cadet days. As cheap and sleazy as it was, it also was out of the way enough, and just expensive enough that the alcohol was good (if cheap), and it was very easy to go in, ignore others, and be ignored in return. The bartender didn't ask questions, and he would let you drink as much as you wanted as long as you could see straight enough to pay. Exactly what he needed.

He spent the better part of several hours in conversations with the bottoms of many glasses, until the world blended together and his mind was hazy, and he could almost forget why he was there. Almost.

He drank until it was all gone. Until he didn't know his name, until 'Joanna' was just another name he didn't recall, and 'revoking your visitation rights' was a string of words that his waterlogged brain couldn't even begin to process.

He was vaguely aware of being found hours later, of warm hands helping him upright, of being led into the streets, up to an apartment building, and into the interior of one such room. A part of him screamed his denial, but he found it swallowed up in the general feeling of 'you are safe, it is alright, do not be afraid' that somehow was flooding his system. He was aware of falling into a bed, his shoes removed and a hand brushing his forehead, a strong suggestion of 'sleep' entering his mind, only to follow it down, until he knew no more.

McCoy woke up to a room that had all the curtains closed, the lights kept as dark as possible, a mouth that tasted like sock, and a brain that was threatening to commit mutiny and squeeze out his ears. He turned his head gingerly, locking eyes with a glass of water and a hypospray, both of which were positioned just so on the nightstand next to him.

He blinked, and slowly reached out, grasping the hypospray with limp and trembling fingers and injecting himself, the headache clearing. He sat up slightly, grasping the glass and bringing it to his lips to sip out of as he looked around at his surroundings.

The bed he was in was large, messy from his thrashing throughout the night; everything was neat, straight and practically screamed of regulations… The glass paused halfway to his mouth.

McCoy immediately sat up and began looking around for the person he was sure would be sitting somewhere cross-legged and silent.

Finally, he locked eyes with the back of a sleek black-haired head, and felt his stomach plummet to his feet.

_Shit_.

He hesitated; what to do, what to do? Finally, with a mental sigh he cleared his throat, watching as the already-straight posture of the man in front of him straightened, and he stood up.

Spock's brown eyes drifted to the used hypospray and he gave a quiet, "Lights, fifty percent." The immediate brightening of the room around him made McCoy squint slightly, but he did his best to straighten up, drain the rest of the water, and look slightly presentable. Wearing the clothes he had worn the day before made it slightly difficult, but he couldn't find it in himself to be too embarrassed when the memories of what had led to a likely disgraceful and ugly bout of drinking began flooding in.

Joanna…

He cleared his throat and met eyes with the half-Vulcan. "I'm…sorry about that, Spock; if you wish I can go now, no questions asked… I honestly thought Jim would be the one to find me."

"Doctor… I believe you would do better to talk to me, at least so I have an understanding of why I found you inebriated to the point you were willing to go with anyone who would take you somewhere."

McCoy looked at the ground, struggling not to blush before sighing, "Look, I don't really see why it's any of your business."

"Leonard, please." Hazel met brown, shock meeting calm, and a hint of quiet pleading. "If you do not count me amongst the people who can use that name, then I apologize, but I had thought that over the months… If you do not see me as someone you are able to talk to, then I will find Jim. He was most anxious to see you, but once he saw you were in my care he left. I do not quite understand why."

McCoy hesitated, looking at the half-Vulcan who was offering him friendship, and sighed. "Jocelyn is no longer lettin' me see my daughter. I can't visit or talk to Joanna anymore."

Spock blinked, and slowly sat down in a chair at the foot of his bed, his eyes reflecting slight confusion in an otherwise blank face. "I was unaware that you were married."

It was McCoy's turn to blink, looking up at him with a quizzical expression. "Didn't I tell you about Jocelyn? She's my ex-wife; I _was_ married. Not anymore…and now she's takin' my daughter from me too."

Spock was silent, his face reflecting consideration before looking up at him slowly. "I am unable to offer any words from a point of common reference. As you are aware I do not have any children of my own, and due to my mixed heritage…I am unlikely to. But in my youth I had found myself in terrible peril. An act of disobedience that nearly cost my parents their son. I recall my mother talking to me, describing the anguish and the anger that she had felt once she realized I could have died. This…puzzled me at first. I could not understand why my death would cause them such grief, for when I returned I found her curled up in my bedroom crying, and my father…my father had been staring out the window unblinking since the news had reached him. While I understand what caused such a state, I believe there are plenty of alternatives to expressing your regret and rage…your friends would prefer it if it were done in a manner that would not cause significant harm to yourself."

McCoy was silent. Whatever part of him that wished to make a snide comment about Vulcans and emotions shut down and put aside for complete and total shock, mixed with a touch of regret. It was quite obvious to him that Spock had been rattled to his core at finding him in such a state. He was unable to find it in himself to answer. _What does a person say to such a thing? _

"If you find yourself unable to say anything, a simple promise that you will attempt to refrain from doing such a thing again will suffice."

McCoy finally began to laugh, and then to both his and Spock's horror, began to cry. Spock was clearly floundering slightly, unsure what to do, and McCoy was desperately trying to stop. A small part of the doctor was amused as hell when Spock stood up, looking around awkwardly and finally offering him a napkin in order to blow his nose. When Spock gingery, carefully, cautiously began patting him on the shoulder slightly, McCoy fell back into laughter. Spock merely looked at him with eyes that held confusion and curiosity mixed with total bafflement.

Finally, McCoy managed to stop, growling slightly as he wiped at his eyes furiously. "I'm sorry, Spock. Didn't mean to go all waterworks on ya like that… It's just…dammit, she's taken everythin' from me! My house, that's been in my family for generations I might add, what's left of my pride, and now my daughter… My daughter; what the hell did I do, dammit? What did I do?"

Spock blinked and looked at him helplessly. "I do not believe I have any words for you. I do know that she does not deserve any of it and I also know that she will not get away with it."

"What?"

"Doctor, my father is the Vulcan Ambassador to Earth; my alternate self, whom you are aware of, has a position in the Federation that holds a great deal of power. I listened to her explanation and I believe we can have it overruled. You will not lose your daughter, Doctor, I promise you this."

"How did you-?"

"The same way I knew where to look; I overheard and then followed you. Your ex-wife has a particularly grating voice."

McCoy stared at him and finally began to laugh. "Finally, someone else besides me thinks so!" Spock raised an eyebrow, and McCoy sobered immediately. "Thank you Spock, really, thank you so much. I get now what Jim says about you. You really are a lifesaver."

"Highly illogical, Doctor."


	5. Trainers

_Couple things before I let you all read, number one, I start school tomorrow. Everyone knows what this means, updates are likely to get more sporadic, but I promise that I shall finish everything and still manage to update reasonably well. Secondly, this is actually going to be something of a six and one considering Jim had two chapters, and I wished for five different people, but I shall make sure that the end one is rather long to make up for it. I know where I'm going and it should be rather interesting, so I hope you all enjoy this chapter. One of my only focuses on Scotty...sooo... Bear that in mind please. Enjoy!_  
...

Scotty adjusted his position on the hard cot he was currently sitting on for the third time, making the bed creak. He winced at the noise, not for himself, but for the person who was lying on the other cot, green blood staining him, hurried makeshift bandages torn from a red uniform shirt tight around them. Spock had fallen into a healing trance. He had assured the Engineer that he would be unable to hear him, and that it was perfectly normal for him, but Scotty was still nervous.

He also was undeniably guilty.

Scotty couldn't believe that he'd let the man bully his way into doing that. He was no Chekov, nothing against the lad, but whereas Chekov was just a boy of seventeen, Scotty was not, and he could take care of himself. Yet, as he remembered just how huge that Klingon was, just how quickly he had been disarmed and sent flying…he had to admit that he was possibly more than a little rusty.

Still, Spock had no right to get in between them like that, especially when another had already managed to slice up his arm like that. Scotty glared at the half-Vulcan annoyed and dismayed to find that even weakened, he had been able to defend himself in a way that Scotty could only dream of. He was an engineer though; it wasn't his job to be a fighter. Not to say that he wasn't -he had passed Starfleet's prerequisites after all- but the fact remained, being stuck on an ice planet in weather he couldn't go outside in, as well as being in a facility that had no means of honing techniques…he was definitely not as well equipped to defend himself as he once had been.

And now Spock was suffering for it… Scotty groaned quietly, his head falling backwards to rest on the wall in annoyance. It seemed that no matter what any of them did, that stubborn hobgoblin was still trying to fight and protect everyone else. Even at the expense of himself, and that was truly what annoyed most of them. But a part of him was gnawing on the fact that if he could defend himself better, the man wouldn't have had to throw himself into the way of that and…

He didn't want to think of it. He could smell the copper clogging the air, and he had no desire to remember why it was there. The thought of it, the reminder of that weapon connecting with flesh… They had realized then that the way to get the Vulcan to hold still enough so they could hit him was if they went for the Engineer behind him.

Scotty found himself taking a leaf out of McCoy's book and mumbling, "Blasted goblin," under his breath as he looked at him.

He couldn't wait to get out of here. He knew it was only a matter of time before Jim found some way to get them back. The man was relentless like that and Scotty had to admit to being very impressed and fond of the lad, young as he was. He could only hope that he would hurry up; he knew how to fix engines, not people, and while Spock wasn't in the danger zone yet…it was really only a matter of time.

Scotty curled up slightly more when Spock started to cough, his mind that had been searching for ways and thoughts to distract him filling him in on the reality of the situation yet again, sending him to his feet and over to the barrier, once again trying to find a way to override it. Like the other dozen times, he didn't.

His mind was spinning as he turned to Spock, shoving him into a recovery position and holding to him tightly, eyes closing as he whispered, _"Please, don' die, don' die, not like this, not when it's me, not when I could have helped ye if only I knew wha' I was doin', please, please…"_

That was how they were found them later, beaming them back easily. Scotty was left to stare at the form on the biobed when he could, his other time spent doing things that the rest of them found hard to believe. He tried to get into sparring. He loved his engines, and he was always with them; splitting from them for this seemed…strange.

Yet he tried fencing with Sulu, fighting with the Chief of Security when he could, sparring with the Captain when he came down, and yet he found that he was rustier than he thought. But he didn't stop.

His first attempt to get them to do so had been received with strange looks, offers to get McCoy, and questions on if he would rather get a sandwich. All of these things only served to further enhance the fact that he needed to learn; he needed to prove these jokers wrong.

He needed to make sure no one else would be hurt because of him again.

It was in the middle of one of these fights that Spock showed up. Scotty paused, looking at the Vulcan who was finally out of sickbay, finally safe. Spock raised an eyebrow at him, slight curiosity on the depths of his brown eyes, and Scotty realized then that he was still pinned to the floor and had yet to get up. He did so, apologizing hurriedly, Jim laughing it off, a smirk on his face and a knowing glance passing between the two standing there before he left.

"You are learning how to spar."

Leave it to Spock to cut to the chase… "Well, I though', what with the constan' trouble we get ourselves into tha' it migh' be a good idea to learn. I already had a pretty basic idea, bu' I really had no idea how basic…"

"Indeed. Would you mind?"

Scotty noticed his stance, and his eyes widened. "Are ye sure that's wise, Commander? Will the Doctor be eaten' ye alive?"

"That is highly unlikely, as I would hardly allow him to get close enough to attempt to eat me. However, if you are asking if I am fit for it, I was released for full active duty."

"Well…alrigh', jus'…go easy on me now; I'd like to be able to use all my limbs in the mornin'."

"There will be no danger of it happening otherwise."

So it began. Free time when they had it at the same time was spent teaching Scotty how to fight.

Various crewmembers found the time to watch the two as they attempted to best the other, Spock always winning, but making sure to correct and hone Scotty's technique. He often received various comments from watchers telling him that learning a Vulcan technique was hard, and as Scotty contemplated the ridiculous flexibility and agility that went into the moves, he found himself agreeing. But he never quit, even at the expense of a few bruises.

They never talked about why they were doing it, never discussed the reasons, merely let it happen, and Scotty was beyond grateful. He didn't think he could explain it if he had tried. The wanderings of his mind, the crazed, almost desperate way he held onto Spock as he bled more and more onto the ground, knowing that it was his entire fault. If only, if only being questions he had asked himself more than once.

He was done asking those questions. Never again.

It was such a strange thing for everyone involved, yet Scotty was learning more than enough to defend himself, soon learning how to win. Spock drifted into the rec room one day, examined the circumstances before him, gave a short nod and turned and left.

Scotty had managed to pin Jim.

Then, slowly but surely, as suddenly as they had started, the lessons ceased, and Scotty in return quit continuing to seek the fights out.

He had all the assurance that he could take care of himself now, no more chance for any crazy self-sacrificing hobgoblins to get hurt on his behalf, or anyone else to do so as well. It also brought a better understanding of the man who had taught him.

It was more than he had hoped for.


	6. Friends

Sulu stared into his plate of barely touched food as though it held the answers to life itself. He gritted his teeth as a few passing alien dignitaries sneered at him, smiling politely in response. This was nothing he had ever expected, racism on an alien planet for the ridiculous and petty reason of the shape of his eyes.

It was the twenty-third century; racism for such ridiculous things that had pretty much died out. Xenophobia towards the various aliens, however, was still increasing, but very much something never mentioned. So this sort of thing was not something he had ever expected. In history books, maybe, but not something that he would actually have to face.

McCoy was constantly throwing irritated glances his way, mainly due to the aliens and the fact that he was unable to say anything to ward it off. Sulu smirked slightly at the image of McCoy going toe to toe with one of the aliens, snarling and cussing them out for behaving like that. He knew that the cantankerous Doctor would do it, too, if only the mission wasn't so important.

Spock wasn't receiving treatment that was any better than Sulu and he found himself shocked by just how well he handled it. He would actively make conversation with them, apologize for being rude if they snarled at him, but would simply go right back at it until they grudgingly answered. Sulu was almost amazed to see the way some of the younger dignitaries were talking to Spock, testing him, their eyes holding awe at how…normal he seemed when compared to them.

The aliens were bipedal and they were humanoid, but where there were several differences in appearance for humans, these aliens appeared to be similar in everything from facial features to height to skin and hair color. They prided themselves in this similarity and anyone who did not fit the norm was considered less.

Sulu was amazed to find that a part of this prejudice was based on the fact that those that were born different in that race often had a birth defect of some kind. Usually they were unable to function normally. It wasn't that they merely _thought_ they were unable to function as normal members of their race, they were unable. It was something that made bile rise in the back of his throat, because with that knowledge came prejudice to those that were different.

Currently, Spock, Sulu, Nyota, who was communicating with three of them in their own language, and even Jim were the ones that were facing their disdain. The only one that wasn't was McCoy, and Sulu could practically see the smoke coming from his ears in his disgust at the behavior of the ones he was forced to communicate with. The reasons were rather simple, if not still highly irritating for the Asian- Nyota for her skin color, Spock for his ears and hair, and Jim for his hair and his eyes. McCoy had precisely the right shade of hair and precisely the right eye color.

As mentioned their current mission was important, if not rather simple compared to some of the other missions they had been sent on. Their goal was to prove that just because a person or race looked different than their own did not make them any less capable. Sulu figured that if he could actually find it in himself to get up and mingle that he could do just as good a job as the other three. But for now, he found himself too peeved to bother.

Sulu had never faced anything like this before. He was likeable, had always been so, and for an entire group to write him off for just one feature made him uncomfortable. A small part of him was absolutely shocked, and very angry. It hurt more than it should, he felt, but it was just so…different, so hurtful that he couldn't imagine actually trying to hold a decent conversation with them. A few of the nastier ones had made him wish to take his collapsible sword and stick it in…a place rather painful, he'd leave it like that.

Sulu bit back a sigh, leaning back in his chair, and then he heard something. Sulu turned to see an enraged and glaring McCoy standing in front of a Spock that was standing slightly hunched over, with his eyes wide, which for him made him look rather shell-shocked, and was clutching his hands to his chest. A shocked alien, from what Sulu remembered the 'chief', was standing in front of McCoy.

Sulu was confused for a moment and then he saw the blood. Green and dripping, it was splattered on Spock's shirt and on the floor, and on the alien's hands which had large talons on them. Sulu automatically stood up.

"Look, you bastard, I don't get what the hell you think you're doin', but you do not just go cuttin' people, especially not the hands of a Vulcan. You people make me sick; you constantly think that you're better than others and you can hurt them, but you ain't, you get me? You have absolutely no right treat any of them like that and I swear to you that I will personally-"

"Doctor, you do not comprehend." The chief's voice was smooth and slow, fitting his large size perfectly.

"Oh yeah? What don't I comprehend?"

"What you have seen is a blood ritual, a pact. I was unaware that his physiology differed in the way you mentioned. It is a common method of making treaties between tribes, or in this case race. I have decided that you were right. Talking to this Vulcan has convinced me. But it needed to be sealed."

"…Oh… Well you still shouldn't have done it."

"I would agree with you; I was unaware at the time."

"What needs to be done to complete it?" Spock asked, letting go of his hands, his posture having straightened earlier.

McCoy glared at him, opening his mouth, only for the chief to reach his hand out, curving a talon, and placing it over his other hand.

"Ah." Next moment Spock easily and calmly dragged it by the wrist across the back of the chief's hand, a thin line sliced into it. He watched calmly as purple-colored blood oozed down his hand to drip to the ground. The chief turned it, pulling his sleeve down slightly and offering his forearm. Spock easily and calmly pressed his own to it, mixing the blood and sealing the pact.

Sulu stared with wide eyes, watching him calmly and easily do something that he knew that the pacifistic and injured Vulcan would usually never do. Especially after he had been touched in such a manner, but what surprised him the most was when he began quietly talking to McCoy, trying to make him repeat the gesture with the leader. McCoy was sneering, his eyes angry and glinting with hatred whenever they glanced to the large slow-moving man with his hazel eyes and brown hair.

Spock eventually gave up on him and turned to the rest, once again pleading to continue, and slowly, one by one the rest did. Sulu was last and the entire time he was doing it he never made eye contact, a small part of him screaming his denial. One man was not enough to change years of prejudice to his people, but that other part said that it was a start.

McCoy still glared, finally offering his own arm, and when finally the last trickled to the ground they backed away.

"We have enjoyed our time together. We thank you for your pact; we will join your Federation."

"I thank you; I believe we must leave."

"You will be missed."

Simple as that they contacted Scotty and were beamed, the mission termed a temporary success. It all depended upon the continuation of tolerance. McCoy immediately began leading the rest to sickbay, Spock's wrist grabbed before he could head in another direction, as he usually did, grumbling the entire way.

The entire time Sulu was getting his hand healed he glanced towards Spock, listening to the praise given to him by the Captain and the others, even though McCoy constantly told him that he should learn how to stand up for himself and his rights. There was a soft look in Spock's eyes that spoke of a smile, but he still made no move to explain himself or let them tell him how excellent at that he was. He placed it under _duty_ and that made Sulu glare. How the hell can accepting their trash talk and sneering be duty, and how can he accept it so easily?

It ended well, he would admit that, but still…

Finally they were the only two left. Spock seemed to register Sulu's eyes on him, and he turned, raising an eyebrow at him. Sulu hesitated and then walked up to him, turned and headed out of the sickbay. He was nearly halfway down the hall when Spock's voice called out to him and made him stop. Sulu turned easily, meeting Spock's eyes with a slight frown on his face.

"I believe you are wondering how I could handle such treatment as well as I was able."

"Yeah, kind of…I mean, that was…"

"Mr. Sulu, the opinions of those men do not matter."

"Spock, they were some of the most conceited, arrogant, slimy people I've ever met, and you go ahead and make a pact with them. Why would you do that?"

"Mr. Sulu, my mother often told me that there were times when our hatred of the men who hated us made us just as bad as them. But this is not why I did it. I have had practice dealing with such prejudice, and I have found a method of combating it. It may seem trite, and if this is your opinion I apologize, but we all must find our own way of handling it. The opinion of those men did not matter to me, because I have an entire ship full of people who are quite…fond of me, and most of them do not hesitate to tell me so. Those men and their opinions are not important, because I have friends who do know me, and their opinions matter more. Do you agree, Hikaru?"

Sulu was silent, blinking, and finally looked up at him with a slight smirk. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"I often am. Now if you will excuse me, I have some things I must take care of."

"Making the Captain file his reports?"

"Indeed." Spock nodded to him and walked slowly away.

"Sir…" The half-Vulcan paused, an eyebrow rising. "Thank you, I shouldn't let it get to me like that."

"Words often are quite able to cause pain; no one would think less of you for it."

With those final words Spock walked away, and Sulu was left to contemplate, one of the things that Spock had said ringing in his mind.

'_I have had practice with dealing with such prejudice.'_


	7. Families Part 1

_I hate my computer sometimes. Alright, this is the actual chapter I wished to post. I saved it, it said fine, and when I posted it it was the whole thing. You have my humblest of apologies for my stupidity. I didn't know it had done that, and as no one was reviewing (I don't blame you, cutting out like that was quite rude of me, and unintentional) I had no idea that it was the in progress, in progress one. Please, people, next time, if it does something like that, LET ME KNOW. Please? I don't like making mistakes like that as much as the next person. _

_Anyway, here's the properly cut chapter. Oh, man, do I feel stupid. Sorry people. I'm not leaving the other one up, just...bear with me for a few more days and I'll post again I hope. Thanks._  
...

Jim was frantic. He was charging down hallway after hallway, phaser out and blasting anyone and anything that dared to get in his way, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set. They didn't know what hit them; the man in regulation blacks practically barreling down the hall was too quick and too efficient for any of them to catch up. Not that they were really willing. Word was spreading though, and Jim knew he had to act fast.

He couldn't believe it. He really couldn't believe it. Spock had done it again, saving them all without a second's thought or hesitation, but this time it went sour. Even more sour than usual. Spock had been captured by them just as the crew was ready to beam out. It had happened so fast; one minute he was next to them, the next he had been pulled into the ground by something that had made Uhura scream and the rest shout. Then they had been beamed and Jim automatically began attempting to get back.

Four days- it had been four days and Spock had still not been found. Until today; today Jim knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly where he was going. He had abandoned the gold shirt days ago, the first day he beamed down and realized exactly how easy it was for him to be spotted. He had not allowed anyone else down, but he had always let the crew on the ship track his progress and health. They had been ordered off planet and Jim was to see that they were not punished with him.

But soon he would be able to face the consequences and Spock would be there to see it through with him. He just had to find him first.

Finally, he made it to the hallway he knew he needed to get to, and charged through, opening doors as he came to them, trying to find that one that led to the half-Vulcan he needed to find. Empty room followed empty room, then he threw open the door to a room that was not empty, and nearly fell to his knees.

Cages, the room was filled from top to bottom with cages, and all but one was empty. In that cage a small form was curled up, his back to Jim, leaving him with a view of something that churned his stomach and made his eyes widen. Regulation science blues were draped over a tiny, pale-skinned, dark-haired boy, and with all the other things Kirk had seen, he had to admit that this, while unexpected, was definitely hopelessly plausible.

Then the rest of the situation caught up to him, and bile rose in his throat. He could smell copper and the rank and clogging smell of waste. Jim saw red. One moment he had been in the open doorway, the next he was by that cage, fingers tightening around the bars, the metal clanging and making the small boy shoot up in fright, pressing himself to the back of the cage.

As soon as Jim saw that face he found himself vomiting to the side. This did nothing to endear himself to the small version of his First Officer, but he was feeling too sick to care.

Bruises littered that face, green trailing from a split lip and what looked to be a broken nose, and Jim found himself desperately wishing for McCoy. He hesitated, looking around, trying to see what was around, see if there would be any unexpected visitors. He needed time. Time to put his head on straight, time to breathe; he needed to think. Once he was certain no one was there and he had closed and bolted all the doors he went back to the cage, carefully and gingerly opening it.

"Spock?" His voice was quiet, his hand reaching out to him, Spock examining that hand, Jim's face, his eyes, the black of his shirt. Jim realized then that if he was wearing his Starfleet yellow, Spock would have been able to look at the...ripped, tattered, stained blue shirt he was currently wearing and know he was someone he could trust.

The small boy pressed himself farther into the cage, gripping the bars behind him. "Spock, I'm a friend; I'm here to help you." The boy merely pressed himself farther back, his expression closed and shuttered while his eyes reflected distrust and uncertainty. "Spock, please, you have to trust me, I'm here to help. My…my name is Jim Kirk…I was sent to find you; I'm from Starfleet."

He watched those eyes narrow, consideration in their depths as he was scrutinized again. Finally that small mouth opened, and an outpouring of his first language left his mouth, the universal translator scrambling to catch up, broken phrases mingling and combining into a jumble of terror and fear. Jim automatically held his hands up, "Hey, slow down; I can't understand you. Just wait; let me get you out of here first, alright?"

Spock hesitated, looking at the hand that was extended towards him, the hopeful and pleading look on the face of the man before him, and slowly reached out, grabbing that wrist and letting himself be pulled into Jim's arms.

Kirk hesitated, the smell of filth and the realization at just how tiny the small boy was making him reel, but he switched him to the left side of his body and brought his phaser to bear and slowly began creeping out into the hall. There was a moment when all was still, and then Jim began to run. He felt small hands grip tight onto his shirt, a small head pressing onto his shoulder, eyes hidden against black cloth. He felt his heart clench and just kept running, eyes and ears focused on detecting any hint of someone coming.

He almost hoped that someone would find them. He needed to kill or seriously maim something, _now_.

Jim hesitated near each corner, fingers curling and uncurling around his phaser, ready for anything. He was almost disappointed when he managed to get out much easier than he had gotten in, the only life around the aliens stunned on the ground. He had kicked one or two of them 'accidently' as he ran past. Finally he was out of the underground tunnels that he had been sneaking around in for days, and the first thing that he heard was a whimper near his ear as they passed into the sunlight.

He didn't hesitate, his every intention of getting to the shuttle as quick as he could, of getting off this planet, of getting someplace Spock could begin to heal. They needed to get to the _Enterprise_. Once they were out of that tunnel he began whispering, words of comfort, quiet promises that they would both be safe, using the tongue that had managed to talk itself out of punishment and into the good graces of everyone he had focused it on to comfort the small boy who was trembling in his arms.

Jim finally saw it, a smile slowly spreading across his face, caution traded for speed in an almost desperate attempt to get off the damn planet, to get Spock help. It was in that moment that he heard the shouting and the pounding of footsteps in the underbrush after him. Spock's head jerked off his shoulder, staring behind him.

He heard, "Duck!" next to his ear and immediately did so, a nasty looking phaser blast passing over his head, barely missing his hair. He nearly tripped over a root in the ground and recovered hurriedly, one foot placed after the other, ducking behind trees and whatever other cover he could find, purposely avoiding where the shuttle was located.

Suddenly something ran into him from the side, sending the both of them to the ground, Jim desperately trying to avoid landing on the small boy who let out a yell, falling to his hands and knees and scrambling away. Jim automatically lurched after him; the sudden grip on his ankle dragged him back. He came back kicking with his other leg, feeling it connect with something on a fleshy face, hearing an immediate grunt of pain and a curse in a language unknown to him. He forced himself forward as soon as that hand let go, charging forward and scooping Spock back up, firing blast after blast behind him with his free hand, sneaking glances as he went and shooting at whatever he could see.

He heard the sound of something collapsing to the ground behind him and clenched his teeth in a moment of what he supposed was righteous fury. He sure as hell deserved to feel it, he supposed, and he wasn't going to apologize for it. Those aliens were not going to get him back; he was getting Spock out of there, even if he had to kill every last one of the blasted things.

He'd do it in a heartbeat too, a small part of him whispered.

Jim finally managed to lose them enough that he was able to hoist Spock up, helping him up the tree. He quickly managed to get Spock into a position pressed to his chest where the blue of his shirt wouldn't show.

They stayed like that until there were no more signs that they were being watched for, Spock leaning back into the human's chest as close as possible, the foreign position he was in, up a tree no less, making everything seem so much more like a bad dream. But he had not woken up for days. He had given up on it being a dream, so he could only listen to the sound of the heartbeat under his head, so much like his mother's, and trust that the man would help him. He had no other option.

Jim on the other hand had his eyes closed, his head resting against the trunk of the tree, mouth moving soundlessly as plans and questions and theories passed through his mind. Trying to figure out the how's and why's of their situation. A moment later his eyes blinked open. He heard nothing.

"Spock…can you hear anyone?" he asked quietly, barely breathing the words out, Spock cocking his head to the side slightly as he listened. A moment later he shook his head and Jim began helping him out of the tree. It was dark, but he knew where he had hidden the shuttle.

It wasn't long before he had managed to get to the shuttle and begin the startup sequence. Spock huddled in the seat he had left him in, arms wrapped around his knees, Jim desperately attempting to ignore just how big that shirt was on him. Trying to ignore how small he was. How frightened.

He had seen that the bruises continued down past the neckline of that shirt. Jim was trying desperately not to think about it. He needed to be clearheaded to get them out of the atmosphere; once they were out he could set the autopilot and begin talking to Spock, trying to see if he could do anything to help him. Jim was out of his depth and he knew it; he needed Bones. He needed help.

Spock needed help.

Jim set the autopilot as soon as he could, knowing that the _Enterprise_ would find the signal from the pod and would be there to get them. With that done he closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe. He couldn't help Spock if he couldn't get his hands to stop shaking, if he couldn't find a way to compose himself.

Finally, he turned around, slowly crouching down in front of the small boy, eyes trailing over that split lip, the bruises, and the first words that popped out of his mouth were: "I'll get the med kit."

_Coward_.

Jim was hesitating, stalling, and he knew it, and it sickened him. Being de-aged to a child wasn't one of the craziest things that had ever happened to a member of his crew. In fact it had happened to a security officer recently. While it had been surprising, it hadn't been something like this. Not where he had been de-aged just to…just to torture him. Jim's fingers tightened on the black case, trembling fingers making the contents rattle.

He stopped, forced himself to loosen his grip and turned around. As soon as Spock's eyes fell on that black case he stiffened, pulling back slightly, eyes widening reflexively even as the rest of his face was still, seeming almost to be carved from stone in its lack of expression.

Kirk hesitated, reading that look and slowly, gingerly unzipped the case, watching those eyes get wider and wider all the while. Finally he opened it, letting Spock see the contents, crouching down as he did so. "I'm going to fix your lip and I'm going to clean you up a bit, okay?"

Spock looked at the contents and then back up at Jim and slowly inclined his head, the brown eyes ceasing their threat to pop out of his head. Jim pulled a cotton swab out, slowly beginning to clean the cut on the boy's lip gently. Spock kept his eyes locked on Jim, unblinking, slowly, hesitantly relaxing. Jim smiled at him widely as he noticed that reaction and watched as Spock straightened at that smile, whatever hesitation that had remained in the boy gone.

"There we go, that's better. You really are safe with me, I promise, I'm taking you to my ship, the _Enterprise_. You'll love it there; it's got hundreds of people on it, and you know what else? They all know and like you."

"How can that be possible?" It struck him then, just how different Spock's voice was from the one he knew.

"Do you remember anything?" It was a simple enough question.

"I do not understand; what do you wish for me to remember?"

Okay, maybe not that simple after all. "Before…before the cage, before you were taken."

The small boys eyes shuttered then, his face closing up, and his lips pressing together at the mention of that place, so close to his memory, so close to his heart. "I was in my room. My mother was reading to me, and then I went to bed. When I woke up…" His voice trailed off, brown eyes looking up at Jim with fear in their depths. "When I woke up, I was there, and they were…"

Jim watched as the small boy seemed to shrink slightly, his face struggling to remain emotionless. He looked so young; he really was so young. He hesitated, and slowly reached out, a hand pressing onto the small shoulder. "You're safe now, I promise. We're going to take care of you. You'll get better soon, alright?"

He was interrupted by the sound of the comm. crackling to life, Nyota's voice filling the shuttle.

Jim felt himself relax. "That's my communications officer. I'm going to talk to her, let her know we're alright. You just sit tight; we'll be picked up soon, okay?"

Spock nodded slowly and Jim moved off to answer.

A few minutes later they were in the shuttlebay of the _Enterprise_, Spock balanced on Jim's hip still wearing a shirt that went down past his knees. As soon as the bay pressurized, Jim stepped out, meeting the gazes of the medical team and the normal bridge crew quietly as they hurriedly entered. There was a moment when they froze, their eyes locked on that small boy, fear and horror in their eyes.

McCoy hurried forward, the fear and horror in his eyes doubled and accompanied by something else, disbelief. Jim hesitated. "Spock, this is Doctor McCoy; he's the one who will be taking care of you."


	8. Families Part 2

_Changed my mind, updating now, so at least you get something new. Now split into possibly three parts. Maybe more. Enjoy_

Spock peered at McCoy shyly, turning the head that had been mainly facing away from the group of people to stare at him fully. McCoy froze mid-step, eyes locked on that face, the sounds of the gasps, and other sounds of shock and horror filling the air at the sight of him. Jim knew exactly what they were seeing.

Leonard H. McCoy took one look at that face and his eyes flickered to Jim's. They were furious, angry, and Jim tightened his hold on Spock, bolstering him slightly for what he knew was to come.

He was right. Two seconds later and McCoy walked forward, mouth pulled into a grimace, hands moving out automatically, only to stop when Spock flinched, pressing himself closer to Jim, eyes wide. They all froze, the fear in those eyes regarded with shock. McCoy paused, and his hands and movements became gentler, and Jim slowly held him out carefully, allowing McCoy to hold him. Spock looked back at Jim with wide eyes, and the Captain automatically began following his friend as he left.

The nurses followed after, subdued, shocked, listening as McCoy began giving instructions.

The people they passed in the hallways froze, their eyes widening at the sight of the small boy balanced on McCoy's hip. Jim knew that word would spread to the rest of the ship like lightning, the downside to being in a ship that amounted to a small town.

They entered the sickbay, and McCoy immediately set to work, pointing Jim into his office. Minutes or hours later, McCoy returned to find Jim with his head in his hands, seeming to be asleep. As the door swung shut Kirk shot up in the chair, eyes wide and blinking, following McCoy's fuming form as he walked over to the cabinet he kept his liquor stash in, unlocking it and taking a bottle out as well as two glasses. He opened the bottle and poured a decent amount in, pushing it over to Jim.

"Drink; you'll need it." Kirk went to do just that, experience telling him that he would. He barely got time to take a sip of the burning liquid before: "He's five."

There went the alcohol across the room, sprayed from the mouth of a man who had been ready for almost anything but that. "What?" Jim rasped out, coughing.

"He's five, just turned in that form. Started school last year from what he told me. Dammit, Jim, they beat him, locked him in a cage, kept him in the dark, and from what I've found they…tested him. Performed experiments on him, tried to see how he would react to certain chemicals, how he would age. From what we can figure, that's why he's an absolutely adorable five-year-old. And if you tell Spock I said that I'll make sure your next physical is murder. But, _shit_, Jim, he's five; he's _five_ and he doesn't remember the _Enterprise_, he doesn't know who I am, he doesn't know where he is and he's completely alone and confused. This is bullshit, and I swear to you that if I could I'd take this bucket of bolts and blow that planet up for what they did, what they're likely doin', and have been doin'." McCoy drained his glass, slamming it back onto the desk and glaring at his friend who was gripping his chair so hard his knuckles were white.

"Jim, this is bullshit. He's five years old and they treated him like he was an animal. Like he didn't have thoughts or feelings, like he wasn't a person. Jim, I had him flinch away from my every touch, even though I was tryin' to help him. He's scared out of his mind, only like any good little Vulcan he won't admit it, does his best to hide it, and I don't know what to do!"

Kirk slowly let go of the chair, running a hand through his hair as he stood up and began to pace. "Can I see him?"

"He's sleeping, in one of the private wards. I think we can keep him there until somethin' more permanent is found. I don't know if he'd prefer sleepin' in his own quarters, but I don't want him alone, not for a while. He's…nightmares, jumpiness, possible lack of appetite and I'm not even sure how he'll react to touch, now or when we get him back to his normal self. I mean, he was twitchy before; now?" McCoy cursed, slumping back into the wall, rubbing his hands over his face hard. "I just don't know how to help him; I don't know what'd be best for him. I'm positive that there are some Vulcan ways to handle post-traumatic stress, but I don't know 'em."

'Post-traumatic stress'. The words rang in Jim's mind like a bell, his eyes closing and his mouth tightening. "I need to see him."

McCoy hesitated, his mind still running through possible methods and ways to help the now-tiny First Officer, lost in its own world, until the words registered. McCoy paused, and then nodded, indicating the door. "Ask Chapel; she'll take you to him. Just…try not to disturb him unless necessary. He hasn't been sleepin' much, unsurprisingly."

Jim nodded and left hazily, meeting Chapel's gaze automatically, the woman turning around immediately and leading him to one of the back rooms. Jim hesitated at seeing the haunted look of the nurse, finally reaching out and clapping his hand to her shoulder gently. Chapel looked up, meeting his gentle smile with a slight twitch of her lips. "It'll be fine."

He didn't know if he was lying or not, but Chapel smiled, her Captain's faith and assurance enough. She knew that if he said it, he would make certain it happened. This time would be no different.

With the sight of that smile, Jim nodded his head and entered the dark room, following the sounds of Spock's quiet breathing. He found a chair next to the bed as the door closed behind him, closing most of the light out with it. He kept his hand on the soft blanket on the bed as he sat down, leaning forward slightly. The lights were dark, a dull glow barely illuminating the small boy who was curled up at the top of the bed in a ball, his head buried in the pillow and his eyes closed.

Jim sighed lightly, something about the sight reminding him that the boy was safe, they were alive, they were fine. They would get better. Four days of stress and worry made itself known to the Captain, deciding to pound on his head and his body, aches and pains becoming known. Nothing that warranted McCoy's assistance, but he was just so tired, his eyelids drooping and his head lolling onto his chest. It wasn't long before his soft snores began to fill the room.  
…

Jim awoke with a start, groggy and confused and with a stiff back and neck. For a moment he was unsure what had awoken him, but then he heard it. Soft whimpers and broken phrases came from the small boy on the bed as he trembled in the midst of a nightmare. Jim snapped awake at the sound of it and reached out, and after a moment of hesitation brushed at the boy's temple, trying to fill him with feelings of safety and warmth. When it didn't seem to have any effect, he shook him slightly, and Spock snapped awake, wide brown eyes flickering around in the dark, body tense for flight.

There was so much fear in them, so much fear in those eyes and those movements that Jim couldn't help but scoop him into his arms. Spock stiffened horribly, fingers clenching at the black fabric on his shoulders, starting to push away, only to collapse into him. Jim was almost shocked that the boy didn't cry, merely pressing his face into Jim's shoulder, constantly trembling, constantly shaking. Kirk stood up slowly, holding onto the form tightly, comfortingly, and after a moment of consideration and uncertainty began to pace up and down the small room, the light just bright enough to see. The entire time he was moving he constantly whispered into the pointed ear, trying to calm, trying to give him safety.

The door opened a crack when Jim's back was turned, McCoy peering in, the change in his patients respiratory and circulatory rate having warned him that he was likely having a nightmare. The sight of the captain walking around the room made him relax and slowly close the door. He sighed, and then gave a small grin. It'd be fine. With these many people who loved him, Spock would be hard pressed to not get better. He thought he knew someone who might even make it a little easier, if only he could convince the proper sources.

It was time to make a call.

Jim knew when Spock was asleep again when the soft whistling breath came from next to his ear. He couldn't help but let a soft smile tug at his mouth, but then he hesitated. What did he do now? He was tired himself and he couldn't wake the boy… He attempted to pull Spock away from his chest, only to notice that the boy's fingers were latched tightly to his shirt.

Jim groaned softly, looking around in slight desperation, almost hoping that someone would come up and tell him what to do. Almost on cue the door opened slightly. He turned his focus to see a smiling Doctor looking at him, the small boy asleep on his chest, new clothes and clean skin and hair smelling much better than they had. Jim gave him a helpless look and McCoy smirked slightly, pointing at the bed. Jim looked from it back to him and the look turned into one of complete confusion and disbelief.

"He's got a good grip on you, might as well lay with him. He looks comfortable. Just do it, Jim." McCoy whispered, rolling his eyes at the slightly furtive way Jim was shaking his head. "Please, he needs to know that he's not alone." Jim hesitated, watching as the doctor moved over to the bed, pulling the blankets back and raising an eyebrow at Jim pointed to it. "In, not just for Spock, I know you haven't been sleeping either, don't think that I've forgotten about you, I'll check you over in the mornin' you big baby."

Kirk was confused, annoyed, and finally scoffed and looked up at the ceiling in a Spock style roll of his eyes before lying in the bed, letting McCoy cover him up, watching with a glare as his friend snickered at him.

"What am I five?"

"No, you're not, but he is. I'd say that's reason enough to tuck ya in." McCoy answered with a smirk.

"Hate you too, Bones."

"Big baby."  
…

The next day found a hesitant Chekov loitering around in the sickbay. He kept his eyes on the room that he knew a much younger Spock was sleeping, but made sure not to get in anyone's way. McCoy kept tossing him amused glances, but the young man pretended to ignore them. He needed to be there. He needed to talk to that boy, to see how he was. He was almost disappointed when Jim exited, clad in a fresh uniform that he figured McCoy had brought down for him. But then he saw the boy on Jim's hip and it was all he could do not to run up and grin at him.

Spock was so _tiny_, and he was currently dressed in a small version of the science uniform, likely courtesy of the replicators and a snickering Scotty. The image was completely and totally adorable, and he couldn't help but smile. But he could see the slight bruises on that face, the undercurrent of fear in those eyes and read the hesitant way he looked at all the nurses and people around him, pressing close to Jim. He could remember what he had looked like the day before. He never wanted to see anything like that again.

Jim seemed to notice him and after a moment of consideration the Captain approached him. Chekov straightened up automatically, meeting Jim's eyes quickly, returning the smile he was given. Jim winked at him once and nodded to Spock, who Chekov noticed was almost hiding behind Jim's shoulder, peering at him almost shyly. "Spock." Jim said, drawing the half-Vulcans attention to him as he carefully examined Chekov. "This is Pavel Chekov, I need to do some work today, and I was thinking about leaving you with him, I heard that he had lots of experience when dealing with his younger cousins, what do you think about that?"

Pavel noticed the way that Jim's eyes were focused on his, directing the question as much to him as it was to Spock. Both of them considered, a smile lighting up Chekov's face as the idea began to appeal to him. Spock hesitated and then nodded, knowingly reaching out for the teen as Chekov's smile grew into a beaming grin of excitement at the way he trusted him. Pavel reached out in turn, the boys weight transferred from Jim's hip to his as he adjusted him easily.

"You get the day off, Ensign, I know people who are willing to cover for you, thank you for taking him for me."

"It vill be no trouble Keptain!"

Jim grinned in return and then nodded, "Go have fun, I haven't gotten him breakfast yet, now would be the perfect time, I think." With a final grin and a wink, Jim walked off.

Pavel paused for a moment, noticing the slight smirk that he was receiving from McCoy, and nodded his head once with a slightly sheepish grin of his own and left the sickbay. As soon as they were in the corridor they immediately fell under the attention of everyone around them. Chekov almost winced when the soft whispers and 'aw's reached his ears. He knew that Spock could hear them a lot clearer than he could. He knew that it didn't bode well when Spock's ears began turning a light shade of green, his brown eyes widening slightly at some of the whispered words.

Chekov did his best to ignore them, taking Spock to a nearby empty rec room. After a moment's hesitation he placed Spock on a chair before locking the door. Spock looked up at him quietly, eyes hesitant. "I apologize, I vish to avoid most of ze stares. Ze shift starts soon, and ve vill be able to eat in peace, is zis okay vith you?"

"That is acceptable."

Chekov was hard pressed not to aw, the small quiet voice keeping to the older man's speech patterns was nearly too much for him. "Okay, do you vish to talk to pass ze time?"

Spock hesitated, blinking slightly, "What is there to talk about?"

Chekov hesitated, blinking, looking for inspiration, and then slowly gave him a small smile. "I remember hearing zat you just started school, yes?"

"That is correct."

"Do you like it?"

Spock hesitated, an eyebrow slowly rising, and Chekov hurriedly rephrased the question. "Um, do you find that the experience is fascinating?" Chekov nearly smirked at the use of the word, the small Vulcan boy brightening slightly as he nodded.

"I find that it is a highly fascinating experience, indeed, there is much to learn, and I have no shortage of things to do."

Chekov grinned. "That is very good, I vas alvays good at school."

"Which is why you are able to work on a starship at such a young age."

The teen blinked and then grinned at him. "Yep!"

"Do you…enjoy it?"

Chekov was quiet for a moment. "It is fun, but it is also wery difficult. It is also wery dangerous." Chekov cleared his throat slightly, sneaking a glance at the small boy before beginning to talk again. "For instance, zere is a Commander on zis ship. He saved my life, at the expense of his own wellbeing. I had to vatch as he vas tortured, ze only intention zey had to cause pain."

Spock was watching him quietly, eyes slightly wide. "Was he well?"

"After a while. He needed to heal, but Doctor McCoy fixed him right up. But you know vat he did zen?"

"What?"

"He came right back to help me. I had been suffering through my own turmoil…my own guilt. You see, I zought it vas my fault."

"That is illogical and I am certain that even if it was your fault that he would still have done it."

Chekov jerked his head up, eyes focused on the brown ones. "Vhy is zat?"

Spock was silent for a moment; his eyes shifting down, and then back up to meet them. "Because it is his job as a Commander, it is his job as someone older and more experienced; you also seem to look up to him. I believe that anyone who gains the amount of respect you wish to give him often deserves it. He would not have left you to suffer, not if he was able to help."

Chekov blinked. He didn't really know what to say. There were only so many ways he had figured the conversation could turn; it had gone none of them. He paused and then smiled, "I suppose you are right."

"I believe my explanation is logical and would therefore be correct."

"It vould if he vas Wulcan." Chekov grinned, Spock inclining his head in reply. "Can you hear anyzing from out zere?"

Spock was silent, his head cocking to the side. "There are less voices than there were before."

"Well alright zen, let's go to the mess, get you somezing to eat, does that sound good?"

"That sounds acceptable." Spock stood up as Chekov did, beginning to follow him as the teenager walked to the door, and that was when Chekov noticed the slight limp to his steps.

"Spock, does your leg hurt?" Chekov asked quietly, his eyes locked onto that limp, looking at the small boy as he hesitated, and then slowly nodded. "No vonder zey vere making me carry you…"

"I can walk, it is not…"

"No, I can do it, it's no trouble. You do not veigh much anyvay."

Spock hesitated and then allowed himself to be lifted back up. "I am not used to this…"

"I know, I am sorry for all ze contact, but I do not vish for you to be valking vhen it hurts."

The small boy hesitated and then relaxed slightly, shifting in order to make himself more comfortable. After they made it to the officers mess, Chekov grinned as he placed him on a chair at an empty table and walked over to the replicators. After a moments deliberation he called up what he knew that his Vulcan friend had ordered almost every day and returned to the table.

He was unsurprised, once he thought about it, that the boy looked confused and a bit amazed at realizing the human was offering him one of his favorite dishes for breakfast.

"I do not understand, how did you know?"

Chekov was silent for a moment, all but screaming inside his head, a mixture of _'idiot, stupid, oh come on!' _But the more he thought about it, the more he knew he should have realized that they couldn't keep everything from the boy. He was smart. He would eventually figure it out. Besides, there was the presence of that giant shirt he was originally wearing sticking out like a sore thumb at the back of his mind.

"Do you recall ze Commander I vas telling you about?"

Spock's eyes narrowed as he nodded.

"Spock, zat vas you, you vere not fiwe vhen ve originally had you. But zose…zings that captured you…zey changed you. Ve are not quite sure how, but you changed from your tventy-eight year old self, into your…fiwe year old self. Zey vere testing you, and ve think zat zey vished to see hov you changed as you got older. But ve are not sure. All ve knov is zat you are now five. Ve are going to change you back though, and ve are going to take care of you in ze meantime, I promise."

Spock didn't move, he didn't blink, his eyes focused on the food on his plate, mind whirring as the new information was protested, even as it was tested and found plausible. It would explain things, so many things. But still, the thought of being regressed in age…it was just so implausible. He supposed the question was though: was it impossible?

"Do you beliewe me, Mr. Spock?"

The boy blinked and slowly looked up. "Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth, I…believe I do not have much choice but to believe you. Do you…is there a way to turn me back?"

"Not yet, but you can bet zat Doctor McCoy is working on it, trust me, if anyone can do it, Doctor McCoy can. And…if zings…do not go as planned, I promise you that I'll alvays be zere for you, as will ze rest of ze ship. Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy especially. I promise. We'll alvays be there."

The slight smile that ticked up the very corner of Spock's mouth was all the assurance Chekov needed that he had said the right thing.  
…..

"I can't do it Jim!"

"What do you mean you can't do it?" Kirk asked, fingers clenching slightly as he watched his friend pace in front of him, his arms waving over head as he groaned.

"I can't is what I mean, I've been studyin' those damn test results for hours, and set the computer on the same task as well as half my nursing staff. You know what we've found?"

"What…"

"The chemicals don't exist. Not a one. Everythin' that was in those test results does not have a proper counterpart that we're aware of. We're still lookin', but for now it looks like we can't find a cure. But…I have a hope."

"Yeah?"

"I think that due to what it was likely done for…examinin' the growth of another species, I think that he might actually age on his own, by himself, and a hell of a lot quicker than normal. But I'm not sure. It's been too short of a time to tell. We'll keep an eye on him though. If that's the case…well, it's a good thing, because I don't know what else we can do."

"I suppose we have to keep our fingers crossed."

McCoy snorted and then after a moment's hesitation grinned, "As it's illogical to keep your fingers crossed and hope it will affect the outcome of a situation, I'd recommend we don't do it."

Jim couldn't help it, he laughed.

"It'll be fine, Jim. Trust me."

"I hope so. I really truly do."

"No hoping, I…pulled a few strings, I think there's someone comin' that'll be a big help. Starfleet's already cleared it, as have the other appropriate channels."

"A doctor has that much high-level clearance?"

"Well…no, but an Ambassador does."

"Bones, what would I do without you?"

"Fall into a pit and die."

"Your faith in me is astounding."

"Oh, hush up, you infant."

"What's with you and the sudden need to call me a baby, I mean…seriously?"

"Fine, hush up, Jim."  
….

The day passed quickly, Chekov taking Spock on a tour of the places he knew the older one had liked to frequent when he had free time. The science labs greeted him with warmth and joy, almost every one of the science officers scrambling to greet him, faces pulled into bright smiles and twinkling eyes.

Spock was slightly overwhelmed by their joy, watching them all shyly, and Chekov grinned at the look, watching as he was carried around, asking questions and slightly amazed at the fact that no one had tried to touch him. Chekov could see the way some of the hands twitched towards his hair or his arm, realizing they were just straining to not say or do anything to the small boy he wouldn't approve of. It was wonderful to watch.

Then one of them asked Chekov why he had not let the boy choose where to go, why he was holding him, and Spock stiffened.

"He is hawing trouble valking. Zey…hurt his leg badly."

Teeth grit, shoulders straightened, fists clenched and eyes narrowed, the sudden shift between bubbly and happy to angry and challenging unknowingly making the small boy tense.

Chekov was quick to get him out of there after that. Engineering bay was no different and finally Chekov decided to just take him back to sickbay. He took him to the small bed, smiling as the boy let out a yawn and placed him on it.

"I beliewe it vould be a good time to nap, yes?"

Spock looked up at him through slightly droopy lids, his lower eyelids having already lowered all the way. Chekov couldn't decide if that was cute, or terrifying. He was leaning towards terrifying. It wasn't long before the boy finally fell asleep.

McCoy entered shortly after, sitting next to Chekov quietly.

"How was he?"

"He vas good. I…told him."

"That he's actually a Commander on a Starship?"

"Yes…"

"How did he react?"

"Vonderfully, considering."

"So, his leg's still hurtin' him, hmm?"

"Yes, ze science staff vas…"

"Unsurprisin', so he's tired?"

"Yes."

"You're doin' fine, you know."

Chekov blinked, looking at the doctor sitting next to him, lips tugging down, eyes reflecting disbelief. "Hov can I be doing fine vhen I do not knov hov to talk to him, act around him… I don't zink he notices because he is too used to everyone around him holding back, but I… I cannot do it. He is too young, he is too…McCoy, he vas my mentor."

"I know, I know, but now it's time for you to return the favor. Just for a while, I promise you, we have someone…someone comin'. Until he gets here, he needs you. Please, don't give up on him, don't give up on yourself. You're doin' fine, don't doubt yourself. If you ever need help, come to me, come to Jim, Scotty… Just…I think it would be best to avoid Uhura, just for a little while. She's still spittin' tacks she's so mad. As soon as she calms down she'll seek you out, alright?"

"Alright…"

"It'll be fine."

"I vish I could beliewe you."

"Either I'm right kid, or you are, it can't be both. Just…choose to trust me, alright?"

Chekov hesitated, meeting hazel eyes quietly, searching the depths of them for something that even he wasn't sure of. "Alright."

"Good. I'll leave you alone."

It was only when McCoy left, that Chekov realized that he did not wish to be alone with him.  
….

It wasn't long before he got used to it, before he could smile and mean it, before he could lift the boy onto his shoulders, and Spock was finally able to walk on his own. It wasn't long before he began realizing that McCoy was right. It would be fine. It was soon discovered that Spock was aging around half a year per night, and with that knowledge came relief.

Chekov was amazed when the boy first began asking quiet questions, detailing reactions he had had, looking for the wisdom of the one he had spent the most time with. Chekov did his best to answer them, tried his best to comfort. But he knew that sometimes he was out of his depth. In some ways, he still hadn't managed to answer all his questions.

But he was trying and he was getting there. It was only a matter of time.


	9. Families Part 3

_I WIN! THE AWARD FOR THE MOST NEGLECTFUL AUTHOR EVER! I sincerely apologize, I really hate being busy, and I hate being sick, and I really hate school, but what I hate most is not updating. That said, here you go. It's once again only a bit/piece, I seriously seriously lost the five and one sometime back there ages ago, but I cannot bring myself to care. I give to you the next segment. Do enjoy, I shall hopefully finish it reasonably soon. *coughyeahrightcough*_  
...

There were few things that he had ever seen in his life that were as adorable as the one before him. McCoy watched with a smirk on his face as Chekov threw his arm over the side of the bed he was sharing with the still-tiny eight-year-old. The reason for their arrangement was that the two of them had finally fallen to sleep after countless hours spent doing equations and calculations; the nurses couldn't let them remain on the floor, so they had transferred them back to the room, neither of them the wiser.

McCoy sighed, leaning back against the doorframe, arms crossing as he considered the new developments. They had been wrong. Spock didn't age at the rate of half a year per night. They weren't sure what had triggered it, or what triggered it at all, but he had been stuck at age eight, gaining memories and events for a week. McCoy wasn't all that sure what was going on.

A grumbled curse later, McCoy stalked out of the room; he couldn't hold still. He was on the borderline between excited and nervous as hell. He was pretty sure that someone would be arriving soon who would make a big difference in Spock's state of being. Not emotional state. He couldn't mention that yet.

He had noticed something worrying. For all the ages that he turned, however old the young Spock got, he still held onto a type of quiet fear. He…was unsure why this was. He didn't know if it was because Spock had still not managed to quell his fear, to quell his memories from turning back to what happened when he was five. Usually he knew that a child was resilient to such things. They recovered quickly and considering he had aged what amounted to three years he should have been able to bounce back. But he had seen some results. Some very funny results that made him wonder.

Not to mention, Vulcans had an eidetic memory.

He did not know what was wrong, but he was certain that the one who was coming would know. He was positive they could begin to help fix it. All they needed, all they hoped for was for him to be able to stop being so tense. To begin to recover. He didn't like watching the boy flinch whenever he was startled by someone coming from behind him. A big reason for this was the look in his eyes once he realized that he had flinched, that he had shown his emotions quite so blatantly.

McCoy rubbed his hands over his face in annoyance, cursing the entire situation in general. It was then that the comm. beeped. He walked over to it briskly, answering automatically.

"He's here; he's coming down to talk to you. We sent him to your office. He expects to be briefed. Good luck."

McCoy felt himself relax, "Thank you, Uhura."

"No problem, Doctor."

He walked over to his office then, blinking at realizing how messy it was. He swore and began a hasty scramble to clear off his desk, padds and other instruments swept off of it and into various drawers and shelves. He was just in the middle of trying to shove one of the last desk drawers shut when someone knocked on his door. Giving the drawer one last futile shove he gave it up and called for the person to enter, hesitating before pulling his chair out from behind his desk. He didn't believe the formality would help all that much considering what he was going to tell him.

McCoy looked up as the door slid open, revealing a blank-faced, silver-haired elderly Vulcan wearing the robes his station demanded.

"Ambassador Sarek, I'm glad you could come," McCoy said, hesitating for a moment before spreading his fingers in the traditional salute, gesturing to the only other chair in his office with his other hand. Sarek made the greeting as well and sank into the chair, his eyes unreadable. "I don't know if we've ever been properly introduced, so… I'm Doctor Leonard H. McCoy."

"Sarek of Vulcan," he replied, nodding. "I understand that my son has been somehow regressed to the form of a child. What I need to know is what happened to him during that time, and how I may help him."

McCoy sighed. "I haven't told anyone on this ship my theories regarding his treatment at the hands of those…things, nor the full extent of his injuries."

"I am to understand that they…hurt my son as a child?"

McCoy knew what Vulcans were like when they were angered. He had seen Spock violently and willingly nearly strangle the man who was now his friend when emotionally compromised. He knew then and there that Sarek was nearing that precipice. He wondered if it had been the smartest idea to move out from behind his desk.

McCoy took a breath, bolstering himself and decided to just talk. Vulcans didn't seem to appreciate it when a person beat around the bush so to speak. Better to just get it out. "Look, I'm going to be straight with you and tell you everything I know and what I suspect. Just to recap we recovered him when he was five, but I…I think that he was younger when they first started. To us it would have been maybe four days; to him it was five years due to the fact that he's been aging in such a way. He spent five years in their 'care'. During this time he was beaten. He was also starved, dehydrated, and tested on. There were so many weird chemicals in his bloodstream I'm surprised he didn't keel over. He was unable to walk for four days without a limp and he's been…jumpy. Bruised ribs, a stomach about to digest itself…dammit, they almost _killed_ him!" McCoy was gesturing, nearly spitting his words out as he recounted it. But as he continued to rant he also seemed to deflate. Finally he stopped talking, his head lowering in defeat. "And I'm out of my depth," he finally whispered out.

He shook his head wearily. "I don't know what to do. I…I figured I'd contact you because you're family. You're someone he'd trust. He has absolutely no memories of us. He's had to be reintroduced to every single one of us and he's just been… Look, I know that you aren't all that fond of emotional platitudes, but…you should be very proud of your son." He risked a look up and almost immediately looked back down.

Sarek had his fingers tightly grasped together, the knuckles white, his face locked in a stony expression while his eyes radiated concentrated fury. A few deep breaths later he calmed, stony fury locked away. "I thank you for the truth, Doctor. Where is my son now?"

"He's asleep currently; stayed up late last night with our head navigator, Ensign Pavel Chekov. He's seventeen; we figured that he'd be able to help the kid out a bit more by givin' him someone closer to his own age. And IQ," he added with a slight grin. "Jim would spend more time with him, but…he's the Captain. It kills him that he can't…" McCoy hesitated and then looked up. "I'm sorry; I'm done venting. Would you like to see him? As I said he's conked out, but he usually wakes up around this time."

"I am content to wait."

"Alright then; can I get you anythin'?"

Sarek did not speak. He remained looking at the ground, his fingers steepled together and his eyes a million miles away. "You have done more than enough. I thank thee for everything you have done."

"It's no trouble, I'm just doin' my job." McCoy answered, trying to wave it off, only to be pinned with two black eyes and a single raised eyebrow. "Alright, you're welcome. I'd do it again in a heartbeat if it were necessary, too."

Sarek gained one of those barely noticeable shifts in expression that was something his son had often; McCoy was shocked to spot it. "I believe the phrase is, 'let us hope that it never is."

Leonard gave a small smirk. "Amen to that."

Silence enveloped the two men, each lost in their own thoughts, quietly contemplating the possibilities, making plans and tracing ideas. They were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by the creak of someone opening it when McCoy gave a brusque, "Enter!" The head that slowly peeked around the corner was immediately greeted with an automatic warm smile on the part of McCoy, and some form of stiffening on Sarek's part.

"Sa-mekh?" The voice was small, the eyes locked on the older Vulcan as though they were unable to believe what it was they were seeing. The door was slowly pushed open, the small half-Vulcan's expression kept tightly under control, while one hand twitched near his side, a slight trembling found in the fingers.

Sarek nodded, McCoy moving to leave the moment Spock began walking in slightly hurriedly, stopping in front of Sarek. A swift glance from Sarek pinned him in place and he watched quietly as a quiet conversation began taking place in front of him. He could understand nothing, as both of them were speaking in quiet Vulcan, but one word continued to be tossed back and forth: 'ko-mekh'. Leonard had kept silent and still throughout most of it, but then he noticed something. Spock's fingers had balled into tiny trembling fists, his eyes turning glassy, his mouth pulled into a small frown.

McCoy noticed this, his eyes narrowing slightly, wondering what was happening, only to have the small boy practically wheel around to face him. He was looking up at him with piercing and what he now realized were tear-filled eyes, and then he started to speak. "The bond with my mother is not there. It has not been there since I began to examine it deeper, to discover what it was. Why is the bond with my mother gone; why are most of the bonds with my family gone?"

McCoy's eyes widened, jerking up in his chair, his eyes fixed on the small boy who stared up at him defiantly. His eyes flicked to Sarek's and then back, stunned into silence. It seemed that it was the wrong reply. A moment later, Spock turned and left the room. Chekov froze on the outside, obviously having been just about to knock, and the way the blood drained from his face and his eyes widened at the sight of Spock's expression told them everything he needed to know.

He watched Spock enter the room that had been temporarily his ever since his change, and Chekov slowly turned to face them. "Vhat happened?"

"Spock knew. He has known…"

"Knev vhat? Vhat has he known?"

"About Vulcan. About his mother, or…he suspected. We pretty much just affirmed it. Shit."

Chekov turned pale, whispering a few words in his native tongue as he slowly sunk down into McCoy's chair that he had vacated after Spock left. "He…he had been asking questions. Zey vere small things, hesitant things. Some…some got wery close to how it was. I…tried to not answer them. I did not knov hov to tell him zat his planet was…gone. He newer asked about his mother, newer asked about his planet, but…he hinted, and I… I should hawe told you about zat."

"Now look here, it wasn't your fault he knew; you did nothin' wrong, and I'm pretty sure we wouldn't have been able to deny it anyway…"

They fell into silence, broken only when Sarek stood up and quietly asked where Spock would likely be. Knowing that he would like to talk to him alone, McCoy quietly answered that Spock was probably going to be found in his room. Sarek inclined his head in thanks and left.

The elder Vulcan made his stately, yet swift, way over to the door to the room Spock had hidden away in. Chapel watched with undisguised hope in her eyes as the Vulcan took a moment, seeming to gather himself, and then entered quietly.

The room is dark, but he can still see the small form curled up on the bed as far away from him as possible, the sounds of quiet, slightly harsh, yet even breathing breaking the silence. It was obvious that the small Vulcan was struggling to not cry, but so far he was holding himself wonderfully, considering what Sarek remembered. As soon as Sarek took a step in, Spock immediately stiffened, finally pushing himself upright, sitting cross-legged on the bed and staring off at the wall.

He did not turn around.

Sarek walked over to the bed, sitting down next to his not-quite-emotional son, a not-so-illogical feeling of déjà vu falling over him as he considered the parallels to this situation, and another Spock, an _older_ Spock. Sarek looked down at his son out of the corner of his eye and finds that he was troubled by an emotion he was, at first, almost unable to identify. Then it comes to him.

Expectation. Quiet, calm expectation and somewhere a quiet and slowly unfurling tendril of hope. It had been so long since he felt that, it was unfamiliar, and as he regarded the small boy, the back of his mind attempted to find out why.

"How did mother die?" The quiet question caught him off guard, if only for the fact that he would never be able to forget how it happened.

"She fell when Vulcan was collapsing in upon itself." His words are equally quiet, illogically quiet. "There was no fear in her, merely acceptance, apology…and love. She did not suffer, for her death was quick" He had felt it in the bond, a strong, warm and deep feeling that had appeared, only to vanish almost as quickly as it had come. He had never spoken of it before. Spock stared up at him, soaking in what he was saying.

"She was not afraid."

"No. The Vulcan High Council owes their lives to you, those who survived." Spock looked up at him, only to look back down.

"Is there another Vulcan?"

"It is not the same, but yes. There is another Vulcan. The humans call it 'New Vulcan', which is what it is, and yet it is not."

"There will never be another Vulcan." The words somehow strike a chord, unacknowledged, hidden, buried under silence and control. "Why am I on this ship, Father? Why am I not helping the colony? Is it not the logical thing to do."

"The colony is growing. Our people are rebuilding, they are healing. However, your place is not there, Spock."

The small boy reacted immediately, looking up at him, eyes screaming denial, and something like fear. "But I am Vulcan."

"You are Vulcan, but you are also human. You are Spock, and your destiny is yours to choose. It was yours to choose. You chose the stars."

Spock's only answer was silence, brown eyes examining Sarek's closely, searching for something, something he realized that his son had been searching for years to find. After a quiet moment of consideration, of dissecting the feelings deep inside him, he opened his mouth, and quietly said: "You will find a home among the stars and on this ship that Vulcan had never, and will never provide you. I am proud of you, my son. You chose well."

Sarek watched the large brown eyes widen in shock, too-human eyes pooling with liquid that the son immediately turned away to hide. A moment's hesitation was all Sarek needed to place a hand on a small shoulder, neither looking at the other, but each lost in their own thoughts as Sarek realized what the feeling was for.

He had another chance with Spock. He could make his relationship with Spock, with his son, stronger, and he could not deny the unfurling of happiness at the realization. He would not lose this chance.

He would not lose his son.


	10. Families part 4

_This is unbetaed, but it is also the conclusion to yet another story, that spiraled WAAAY out of control. For those of you that have not noticed, you'll see a direct reflection of what Spock did for them, they did for Spock. Not sure if any of you got that, you probably did, but I thought it was clever...(it's also why it took so bloody long, bad idea, brain, bad.) That said, enjoy!_  
...

Spock watched through eyes that were forcibly kept blank, in a face that was beginning to hurt he kept it so still. His fingers were balled into trembling fists, and his eyes were unblinking. The Klingon in front of him smiled, baring his teeth, holding the one he had grabbed tightly, a knife held in front of his neck. Spock stared at the Klingon who had a hold of his father and found himself unable and unwilling to move.

They had been boarded. Jim and the crew had done everything they could to hold it off, but it was inevitable. The only good thing about it was they were well on their way to taking it back in hand and destroying the ones still outside. But the fact that the Klingon had the ambassador ruined any good that may have come from it.

Sarek was bleeding, from his lip and his nose, his robes were ripped, and he was bruised heavily, but he was unmoving. Spock's eyes were locked onto his, unwavering. The Klingon didn't seem to mind that the young Vulcan's attention was not focused on him. In fact, he almost seemed amused. He wrapped his hand around Sarek's throat, tightening his fingers gradually, watching as the tiny Vulcan twitched, his expression slowly beginning to shift.

Loud guttural laughter filled the air, the knife held near Sarek's throat, only to plunge into his shoulder. Sarek did not react, even as Spock took an involuntary step forward. There were few moments when Spock could remember being as terrified or angry as this. The Klingon was toying with him, with them, and his father was being killed in front of him. Spock finally closed his eyes against it, desperately attempting to keep control.

Phaser fire split the laughter, and a loud thump followed, but Spock never opened his eyes. They were closed when voices came, a further thump happening shortly after, the voices getting louder, more distraught. Then another voice came, a quiet voice, feminine, soft, and unfamiliar. He felt himself being slowly carefully lifted into two arms, human arms, the softness to her figure reminding him of his mother, her scent was even similar. He burrowed his head into her shoulder and simply held her equally close.

When she began speaking in quiet Vulcan, using the words in a way he knew that no true Vulcan would use, the image was set, and he was back with his mother. His mother who was gone, who was dead. He didn't realize he was crying until the woman began attempting to shush him.

He was only vaguely aware of being taken somewhere, of the sudden presence of another human, familiar. A hand began rubbing his back gently, and he felt something wet plop onto his hair. It was then that he realized that the female was crying as well, and he looked up, eyes blurry. Two brown eyes in a brown skinned face stared at him, damp, but focused. Neither thing reminded him of his mother, but at the moment he could only reach out carefully, brushing the tear away.

The woman looked surprised, blinking, only for him to hold it out, examining it quietly.

"Crying is not logical. It helps nothing, and causes a person to feel... Yet I have had trouble with this reaction. I'm told I have 'human eyes', I suppose this is what they mean. Is it wrong to cry for my planet, my people…my mother and my father?" He watched as the African woman he did not know turned her head to look at Jim with wide eyes.

"Never. It's never wrong. When you get older you'll lose the urge, you'll be more in control, but you're young. Heck, you've only just turned nine; no one's going to hold it against you. Absolutely no one." Jim spoke then, the woman nodding.

"Exactly, I know it hurts, but it's fine, crying is…release in humans. Your mother cried, I'm sure," she said, her free hand wiping her eyes.

"I have seen this reaction twice. Once when I was almost killed, and the other when I returned home from school and informed her that the other students would not accept me."

"What?" The woman's question was like a whisper, her eyes widening, while Jim seemed to puff himself up, unable to contain his anger.

"I am half-human. I was not an equal; I still am not an equal. I shall always be a half-breed and therefore less than others of pure status."

Jim reacted then, punching the bulkhead next to him. His eyes were slits and he practically spat, "Bullshit!"

"Very eloquent, Captain, but I concur. That's wrong, Spock. You're not less than anyone."

"The very term disproves you. 'Half'-breed."

"You are not a half-breed. You're…you're you, you're _Spock_! You don't have to be more than that, and let me tell you, that's more than enough."

"…If this is true, then why do…did my peers not accept me?"

"Because they were a bunch of bigoted idiots." Jim answered automatically, the woman nodding in agreement.

Spock was silent, seeming to digest the information he was given, his head bowed slightly. "Will my father be alright?"

"McCoy's been working on him, but he told me that Sarek will be fine. He's in a healing trance, he'll come out of it soon, and all will be well, I promise."

Spock inclined his head slightly, then focused his attention on the woman as she put him down on his own two feet. "Thank you, but I do not believe we are acquainted…yet at least."

She lowered herself down with a slight smile, "My name is Nyota. I'm sorry I didn't try and meet you earlier, but…it was difficult. I'm so used to seeing you full-grown that I wasn't all that certain how I would react when I saw you. Now I know."

"You reacted adequately."

Nyota blinked, and then laughed. "Thank you."

"I believe the proper response is, 'you are welcome'."

She smiled at him, and he inclined his head to her.

Jim rubbed at his hair for a moment, glaring. "This wouldn't have happened if I had just returned you both to the Vulcans the moment Sarek got here. Hell, I should have just dropped you off there and let them handle it. It's obvious that we can't provide the proper protection, or the resources to get you to grow up quicker."

"Don't be like that, Jim, it wasn't your fault. You had no idea this would happen."

"Still, if I had just…_listened_. I don't know. I'm just…shit… I just." He sighed, running his hands through this hair and slumping on the wall. "I care about you, you know that, right?"

Spock blinked, looking up at him, his head tilting to the side slightly as he regarded him. "Yes, I understand this fact. You are my friend as well as my captain, when I am older."

"That's right, best friends. We got each other's back, and totally ready to jump into danger for the other. Every single one of these crewmembers would do the same. For you, or for me. I'm used to being able to fix everything, or having someone else who can do the same. But this is…" He sighed. "Look, the point is, I might need help to fix you this time. Maybe the best place for you is New Vulcan…"

Spock was silent for a moment, looking at the ground. "I do not wish to go to New Vulcan."

Jim closed his eyes, sighing. "Alright. Maybe I'm overreacting a little…"

"'A little'? Captain, Sarek is going to be fine."

"He was stabbed, Lieutenant, _stabbed_. Sure he's going to be fine, but…he might not have been."

"But he is."

"Alright, I get the point. I get the point. But I don't like it."

"Jim, you care, we get that. We like that about you. It'll be fine. Spock needs to stay here."

Jim sighed and nodded his head weakly. "So he does. You want to see your dad now? McCoy will probably have managed to get him mostly patched up now."

"Very well."

"Okay then, Nyota, can you take him? I have to make reports and check on the damage to my ship."

"Okay, Kirk, go on. Thank you."

"Thank _you_."

With that he walked off, leaving the two alone. Nyota turned to regard Spock for a moment, and then smiled at him. "Captain cares about you."

"Indeed."

"The entire crew cares for you."

"So I have been told."

"You aren't worthless."

"…"

She sighed, but she looked more sad than anything else. "You'll see. In time you'll see."

"…I hope so."

"Come on; let's go see your dad."

It was only when Spock sat in front of his father on the biobed that what had happened truly began to effect him. He was silent, his mouth turned down into a frown as he watched his father lie prone on the biobed. Nyota had squeezed his shoulder once and then left to see to her own department.

Spock was alone in front of an unmoving and unwell father.

He was silent, his head bowed, the private ward mainly undisturbed, due to the fact that McCoy was off dealing with the other injured. His head lowered slightly, his eyes closing, and then he heard the door open. Spock turned to watch as the Engineer he had met before stuck his head in. Scotty slowly entered, his eyes locking on Sarek for a moment, before trailing over to look at Spock.

"Hey…"

"Greetings."

"You're way too formal sometimes, ye know that?" Scotty asked, smiling weakly and sitting down next to him.

Spock allowed a corner of his mouth to twitch in what he had learned would be seen as a smile, but showed no other sign of anything.

"I'm sorry about yer father."

"He is alive, he shall be well."

"Aye, that is true, but it still doesn't change the fact that it's downright dreadful."

"…Indeed."

"I'm sorry, lad. I really am."

"It is not your fault."

Scotty nodded easily. "So…you feelin' alrigh'?"

"I am…fine."

"I thought fine was unacceptable."

"There is no other word I may use that is proper."

"Ah, so ye're feelin' downright awful, then."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, lad. Is there anythin' I can do?"

"You were taught the Vulcan style of fighting."

"Yes, actually…"

"Teach me."

Scotty blinked, looking into two brown eyes, and a slow smile spread along his face. "Ye sure ye can take it, lad?"

"While you may be older than me and taller, I am well on my way to being just as strong. I have been growing, and will continue to do so."

"That ye will, ye'll get to be taller than most of us on this ship."

"I need to learn, please. That Klingon…he went for me first. My father offered himself in my place." His shoulders were square, but he did not meet the Scot's eyes, missing the way they widened in shock, and his mouth pulled into a frown.

"Aye…that's…that's a hard thing to have happen."

"So you will teach me?"

"Ye bet yer boots, lad."

"…But I am not wearing any boots."

Scotty laughed, and patted him on the shoulder, flinching back once he realized what he had done. "Sorry about that, forgot about the not likin' to be touched thing."

Spock was silent for a moment. "There is…there is one thing…"

"Yeah?"

Spock hesitated, and then reached out, and calmly and carefully hooked his little finger to Scotty's. Scotty blinked; looking down at the tiny finger wrapped around his grease stained one, and looked up at him in surprise. "What's that then?"

"It…it is basically the equivalent of one of your hugs."

Scotty started, looking down at it, and then back at him with a wide smile. "Well, thank you!"

This was why they were found by Sulu the next day crouched in a sparring position, the young Vulcan looking a little more out of place and scruffy than his adult self would be in, were he in the same position. Sulu grinned, sitting on the ground and watching, his sword laid out to the side. It wasn't long before Spock was pinned to the ground and reinstructed. But what Jim had told him was never far away from his memory.

Eventually the two of them parted ways, Scotty to his Engines, and Spock to grab his water bottle and begin stretching to cool off. Sulu stood back up and began his own series of stretches. The small Vulcan nodded to him and sat down cross legged off to the side.

"So…you were picked on at school."

Spock blinked, looking up at him, finally giving a quiet, "That is true…"

"You know they're a bunch of idiots?"

"Most of them are highly intelligent."

"Not really. If they can't see the value in a person because of their looks or because of what they are, then that's ignorant, and stupid."

Spock did not reply.

"It is."

"Why?"

"Do your parents love you?"

"Yes…"

"Does the people in this ship care for you?"

"Yes…"

"Do you believe that every one of us is wrong in that belief?"

"…"

Sulu dropped all pretense of stretching and crouched in front of him. "Spock, we're not wrong. We're right. Your father's right, your mother…was right. She still is, too. We care about you Spock. You belong on this ship, and anywhere else you set your mind to belong, whether they like it or not. You get me?"

"But what if they do not like it and attempt to kill me for it?"

"Then you don't want to be down there anyway, do you?"

"Negative."

"Exactly. Spock, you're…special, you're unique. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that." The tiny smile and the offered hand was enough to make Sulu beam.

Over the next few days something happened that made the ship breathe a collective sigh of relief. They had found what triggered Spock's growth. It was not long before he was entering puberty, and with it, McCoy's increased usage of pain killers during the night to let him sleep as he grew, and basically locking him up in the sickbay. Spock was not all that happy with the arrangement, but the crew did their best to keep him company.

Sarek was never far from his side, and there were no more incidents like the one with the Klingons, thankfully. All in all, it was a time that most of the crew treasured. The look on Spock's face when the bridge crew grinned at him, when he finally reached his proper age, and called him by his Vulcan name was more than enough for them (especially as it had taken several weeks of training and near tears on Chekov's part). It was over, and they were closer than they had ever been before.

Happiness born from misery, they wouldn't have had it any other way.


End file.
